


The Barnes and Rogers Family Photo(s)

by cpt_winniethepooh



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Avengers Family, Christmas Decorations, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Fluff, Found Family, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Recovery, Team as Family, Ugly Holiday Sweaters, family photo, referenced winter soldier horribleness, vague age of ultron references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 11:28:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17120513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cpt_winniethepooh/pseuds/cpt_winniethepooh
Summary: It's Steve and Bucky's first Christmas after Bucky got away from HYDRA, and there's holiday decorations, some lingering past sadness, and redefining what life, love and family means.





	The Barnes and Rogers Family Photo(s)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [miriad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miriad/gifts).



> Written for the DC/Marvel Holiday Bingo Excange for the prompt "family photo" for Miriad! I hope you like it! :)

Steve is very impersonal in his own life, Bucky thinks. 

It's not necessarily a bad thing, but based on what he's read, experienced and was told by his therapists, it also isn't very healthy.

There are no pictures in his apartment in DC; no knicknacks, no telltale signs of someone emotionally connecting to the place, which at least makes the move to Brooklyn easier. But he also doesn't have a personalized wallpaper, or a ringtone that isn't the standard default one (except for Iron Man, but Bucky suspects that's because he set one for himself), or... anything, really.

Within half a year of them living in Brooklyn, together, almost like back in the day except nothing like that all, Bucky has acquired more in terms of possessions than Steve had in  _ years _ .

It's depressing, is what it is.

"You could at least let Stark buy you nice things," he comments.

"Hm?"

"Stuff. You don't... have much," Bucky falters, because he hadn't thought this through.

"I have more than I need, and more than I ever had," Steve gestures around in their flat. Which, fair enough: their then-lot before the war could've fit in their current living room. "And more than I ever hoped to have," he continues, smiling dopily at Bucky.

There was a time, not so long ago, where Bucky would've blushed and protested. Now, however, he remembers what Steve looks and sounds like when he wants to get the conversation – more precisely:  _ Bucky _ – off track.

"You could still learn to accept more," Bucky says instead of "nice try, asshole", and mentally pats himself on the back for being nice. 

"But why, when we have it all? Or do you want something?" And suddenly his voice is eager, body ready to jump at any moment. Which is such a Steve thing to do, to take nothing for himself but be ready to bring the stars down for Bucky, that Bucky has to roll his eyes fondly.

"I don't, I... I didn't even mean it physically. But you could set your wallpaper to something more personal than that stock-sunset."

Now Steve's rolling his eyes. "You're spending way too much time with Tony. But fine, fine–" he tinkers with his phone for a bit, then shows it to Bucky. "Better?"

His background is now a candid of Bucky, reading on the couch under at least three layers of blankets, looking like the world's most occupied burrito and least threatening assassin.

Bucky tackles Steve to the ground for that, but they still end up tangled and kissing, so.

 

"Hey, do you have anything of... my family?" Bucky asks from a very similar position to the one that is still Steve's background: blanket fort on the couch, nose in a book. A pretty runny nose, as it is, and not because it's cold season (although it is), but because reading about somebody losing their family and being alone is just one of those topics that can bring a tear out of even the most hardened veterans (which Bucky isn't). 

"...what?" Steve looks up from his own book, something something modern music. Must be from Sam.

"A photo, or..." Bucky shrugs. "I don't... remember much. Their faces."

"Oh, I..." a complicated set of emotions flash over Steve's face: grief, anger, more grief... okay, maybe not that complicated. "I don't think so. I have one of us as kids, and one of my Ma, but... it was just always a lot of– anyway I could look them up?" And the book is replaced with his phone immediately.

"No, I don't want to know what they look  _ now _ ," Bucky sighs. "And I know it wasn't... they were your family too, after Mrs. Rogers died. I'm sorry." 

Steve's jaw drops open, then the next minute Bucky finds himself buried under two hundred pounds of sobbing super-muscles. 

"How can you be sorry for that and not that you lost them too? You are–"

"If you say too good for this world I will punch you," Bucky warns him, but hugs him tightly nonetheless. And Steve, for once, listens.

 

It's late November when Bucky comes home from grocery shopping (clad in layers of warm sweaters, because even though the chill can't hurt him, it does  _ bother _ him) to find an open notebook on the dinner table. Steve's sketchbook, to be precise. With a yellow sticky note stuck to the page.

He puts the groceries away first, otherwise he'd just forget-slash-ignore them forever, then checks it out.

He's realized Steve was still doodling, every now and again, but the immense fascination with art, the need to always have a pen in his hand seemed to be a thing of the past, like so many other things about Steve. Like so many things about Bucky. And he never brought it up other than when he was still trying to remember, and Steve shrugged and reassured that he used to draw a lot, and still did occasionally.

But he should've, based on this sketch.

It's Bucky's family. What used to be Bucky's family. There's his Ma, and seeing her tired but loving smile puts a missing piece back in Bucky's soul, a piece he didn't even know existed. Then there's his Dad, almost frowning, but not quite, and Bucky misses his deep, rusty voice so, so much. He can't recall it, but he remembers loving it. 

And in front of them stand four kids: Bucky is second to the left, about ten or so – right before the Depression, when things were going well but when Steve was already a part of their family. On his right there is Becca, with wild eyes and a smirk; she always was a firecracker. And on his left Alice is holding a toddling Gracie, the latter laughing, the former seemingly wanting to be anywhere but here.

Bucky sits down heavily to the kitchen chair.

He forgot... he forgot so much, God help him.

Steve finds him hours later, still grasping at the paper, tears silently running down his face.

"I even remember Gracie's freckles now," Bucky whispers. "She had a triangle on her cheek, like one big on top, and..."

"..and the two smaller ones in line with the corners of her eye, yeah," Steve says. "I forgot."

"So have I."

"You remember now," Steve squeezes his shoulder, and only then notices that Bucky's crying. "Buck, no, it's fine–"

"It isn't," Bucky shakes his head. "I lost them, and I'm never getting them back."

Steve doesn't know what to say, so he just hugs Bucky so they end up on the kitchen floor in each other's arms, until Bucky calms down enough to breathe and speak again.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean that," he croaks.

"You're right, it's unfair and I'm so sorry," Steve says, his eyes red, and Bucky's instinct to take care of him kicks in.

"Not your fault, pal."

Steve's face contorts and he opens his mouth to protest.

"Not.Your.Fault." Bucky repeats shakily. "HYDRA's. And it just... hits me, sometimes. The full effect of what's happened."

Steve thumps his head on Bucky's shoulder. "I'm still sorry." 

Bucky could say so many things to that: it's life, still not Steve's fault, he'll get over it. Instead he kisses Steve's forehead before saying, "You could include yourself, next time."

Steve makes a noise of non-comprehension.

"You are part of my family too, and were since you were six," Bucky explains, and Steve cuddles into him some more.

 

"So Steve's drawing?" Sam asks Bucky the next time he's over, after they're done with the usual "you can't sit on MY seat"/"you can't drink from the wine I brought" charade that chases Steve out to the balcony with eyes rolling and muttering about  _ children _ . 

"You didn't know?" Bucky asks, surprised – not his usual "how can you even call yourself a  _ friend _ " tone, but genuine surprise.

"I heard," Sam waves. "He offered input about our uniforms and everything. But not... like that." 

He nods at the fridge where Bucky's family portrait is displayed. 

"He always did, and I gave him some new sketchbooks," Bucky says smugly. It feels good to know more about Steve than anybody else, even if that comes with the heartbreak of how it shouldn't be the case. Steve should've opened up to more people. 

"Hm." 

They make dinner – well, Bucky does. He enjoys cooking. Sam isn't allowed in the kitchen, so he keeps quipping from the sideline and wrongfully criticising everything. Bucky sometimes shoots crumbles at his face. 

"And you've set it as a wallpaper?" Sam asks once, apparently catching a peek when Bucky pulled his phone out to check something online.

"It's  _ my _ family," Bucky says defensively.

"No, I think that's cool," Sam raises his hands, also defensively. Huh. 

"I agree," Bucky says cautiously. "Steve doesn't, though." 

"With your choices?" Sam asks.

"No, but he still has a generic sunset as his background. It's boring." 

Sam purses his lips and makes a face that tells Bucky that some intense therapy-ing is going on. "What?" 

"I think," he begins, then turns to check on Steve who is no longer on the balcony. Bucky rolls his eyes: he would've chewed a new one for Steve for spending hours outside in nothing but a henley in early December, had Steve not come inside and disappeared in the bedroom with the phone pressed to his ear. 

"He's still on the phone with Natasha," Bucky tells Sam. 

"Oh?"

Bucky rolls his eyes, just because he is certain now that Sam sees it. "So what's your theory?" 

"Man, I can't believe you're interested in my opinion," Sam fake-flatters.

"I am gathering intel to make fun of you later, so spit." 

Sam gives him the finger, then sobers up. "Okay, so I think Steve doesn't let himself... be in the present. It's something I see a lot with vets – subconsciously they are afraid to commit because they're afraid to lose everything again."

Well, that was an unnecessarily depressing revelation for such a nice day.

"But he's committed to me?" Bucky whispers.

"He  _ was _ able to hold onto you, wasn't he?" Sam asks back slowly.

Bucky puts down the spatula with a heavy sigh. "How do I..."

"You don't," Sam supplies fast. Bucky's face falls. "I hate you for making me say this but, firstly, you already helped him. Look around – he has made this place  _ his _ , and he's drawing again too. Those are good signs."

Bucky listens while he turns the stove down, and okay, maybe. Steve picked the cloth on the table: a soft blue with intricate gold design. And the history books and autographs are his on the shelves in the living room (next to Bucky's science fiction novels, straight up tech manuals and pulp fictions), but so are the art books: art history, drawing tutorials, even coloring books, study collections. And further down the hallway, behind walls and doors, Steve insisted on the biggest bed and most comfortable blanket that the store had to offer. Well, he insisted on the best of everything when Bucky was concerned, but the mattress stood out to Bucky the most because back in their day, he had to fight Steve off the floor and up their ratty old couch cushions. 

"And secondly," Sam goes on, "Steve's a smart man. No, I know, he's also an idiot, but he's capable of learning from  _ you _ . And you've got no trouble letting good things happen to you, thank fuck, so you can lead him by example. That's really the most you can do to help, believe me."

And Bucky, for maybe once in his life, does.

"So you're essentially admitting I'm the good influence in the relationship," he says cheekily, and Sam groans.

"I hate you and I regret everything I've said already."

 

The hardest days are the ones when Steve has a mission. Not only because Steve doesn't take grocery runs anymore, and only suits up for the absolute must, last resort, if he doesn't the world is going to end types of missions, but also because Bucky has to watch him go. Alone.

Because Bucky just... he just can't, okay. He tried, he tried to be a member of the Avengers but even the thought of pulling the trigger sends him over the toilet where he spends a few hours hyperventilating. He doesn't want to do violence. He doesn't want to hurt anybody. He doesn't want to see anybody get hurt. 

So Steve kind of went with that, kind of retired along with Bucky. Except if aliens attack, or something equally serious occurs. The rest is up for the rest of the heroes of the world, as now there are a lot to choose from – some are even picky about exclusively fighting a certain villain, so. Bucky can have this luxury.

But then Steve gets called because some idiot wants to drop a meteorite to destroy the Earth, and yeah, it's bad. It's pretty bad. So Bucky is huddled on the couch under two layers of emotional security blankets, TV on a news channel, phone and laptop open on various news sites. He feels horribly guilty for not being out there, while at the same time knowing he wouldn't help things, what with the way of having the TV turned low so the sudden explosions don't make him jump too much. 

But he's so, so scared of losing Steve, the fear paralyzes him and he can't  _ not _ watch either.

Tony is the leader of the Avengers, now, but Steve clearly offers tactical input. That's good, that's great, Bucky trusts Steve's brain to bring him home safely.

They want to plant explosives and detonate the meteorite – initially a chunk of Europe levitated up, because of course it is – before it hits the ground and wipes out the Earth, or so it seems. 

Steve loses his shield for a moment, but the Black Widow tosses it back before Bucky could properly black out, so it's all good. 

Somebody shoots at Steve, but Hawkeye takes them out before they could land a hit.

When the first explosion goes off and Steve is too close, huddled behind his shield, and is thrown back by the blast, Iron Man catches him and brings him to stable ground again. 

Thor uses his hammer to strike down right at the center of the shield, and Bucky's heart almost stops because  _ these idiots have been practicing that _ , but it works and the shockwaves decapitate the enemy masterfully. 

And when the mission is successfully completed, the demise of the Earth prevented, and Steve is safe in Bucky's arms at home again, Steve tells him that Bruce made him some relaxing tea that let him sleep on the Quinjet. 

It's nice to know that Steve have people now that watch out for him when Bucky can't.

 

"So what do you want for Christmas?" Steve asks roughly a week before said holiday.

_ For you to take care of yourself _ , Bucky wants to say but doesn't. He's learned enough about psychology to not guilt-trip Steve when all Steve wants to do is something nice for Bucky.  _ You, naked, in my bed _ also has a lesser impact when he can have that every day in  _ their _ bed, so.

"Could you... um, draw me something again?" he ends up asking.

Steve's confused at first, then lights up like a Christmas tree, and isn't that accurate. "What?"

"My family, but you and your mom there too. I'd like to put it up the bedroom wall."

Steve's smile turns wistful. "Okay. Whatever you want, Bucky."

"What do  _ you _ want?" 

"You, just you," Steve says without missing a beat. Bucky should've seen that coming, really.

"You have me, you dope," Bucky kisses him gently. "But now I have a lot of money from the back pay – I can even wrap things up nicely, unlike back then. I wanna get something nice for you."

Steve sighs. "I... I heard what Sam said the other day," he admits shyly. Bucky looks at him questioningly, though, but he doesn’t seem to know how to go on. "I... I'm trying to accept we have the present, but I just..."

"Hey, it's okay," Bucky cups his cheek. "You never saw yourself worthy of anything except for the things you value and fight for. Don't feel bad now."

Steve swallows. "I want to enjoy Christmas with you."

"How 'bout we decorate together, then?" Bucky asks. "And indulge in whatever we fancy." 

Steve shrugs, but there's a small smile playing at his lips. "Okay. We can do that."

 

And they do. 

They hit up the mall in a weekday morning in the hopes of avoiding the pre-holidays rush, which doesn't work as well as Bucky hoped, but at least nobody stops them –  _ Steve  _ – for selfies. But Steve still frowns at the gaudy plastic decor and the prices, and they wander around for a while without buying anything when Steve says,

"Hey, how about we go to a thrift store instead?"

It turns out that thrift stores a lot less painful than Bucky anticipated in terms of bringing the past back to life. Not many things are from their time, the oldest seem to be around the fifties, but most are from the eighties and nineties. Which is fine. More than fine, actually. For one, even if it's not much cheaper than the mall, at least they know they are being environment-friendly by reusing old stuff. For another, Steve lets himself pick up some trinkets, which is why they came in the first place.

They acquire a wreath with a nice gold ribbon and a fake bird to go onto their door. A bunch of small, painted china figures of forest animals in the snow to be scattered around the apartment. Three small fake Christmas-trees, already decorated (one with hay figures, one with small gift-boxes, and one with colorful glass balls), mostly because Bucky does feel like indulging and wants one on the kitchen table, in the bedroom, and in the foyer as well. A lot of decorations find their way into their cart too, to be put up on the main tree or around the flat as well. And a new, Christmas-y tablecloth full of dancing reindeer, because why not.

Bucky gets himself an oversized, knitted sweater in royal blue with a huge penguin on the front, and he talks Steve into an ugly red-and-white one that has a line of santas and deers prancing around, and they laugh at each other on the way back home.

The comes the actual tree itself, although Bucky would rather forget the experience of having to drag it back home – it isn't heavy for them, but it sure is sticky, stingy and leaves a breadcrumb-trail of pine leaves  _ everywhere _ . 

At least decorating it is much more fun, although they have no rhyme or reason to the design whatsoever: their sets are incomplete and don't match, are used, and it's their first in this whole new world, but all of that just makes it better. It feels like a continuation of old times, rather than a completely fresh start where the blankness of the page is disheartening rather than encouraging.

They, of course, forget the lights and have to take an extra trip to another store, in their brand new holiday sweaters, and then their flat looks like a bunch of fairies threw up an unhealthy amount of lights everywhere.

"This is nice," Steve admits quietly.

Bucky huddles close to his side and lets Steve embrace him before kissing his jaw. 

 

They spend Christmas Day together, with all the fairy lights on but everything else off, eating the huge dinner they cooked together before getting to the gingerbread figures Bucky made roughly a ton of, and then Steve puts an LP under the gramophone (a housewarming gift from Nat) and jazz fills the room.

"May I?" Steve bows a bit before Bucky, clearly nervous and full of anticipation.

It catches Bucky off guard, but then pushes a strand of hair off of his face and nods.

Steve pulls him close and wraps his arms around Bucky's waist, and right, he was always terrible at this. So Bucky has to lead, although they mostly just sway a lot and Bucky makes Steve spin out a few times until his cheeks are red from laughter.

They dance until the LP runs, then they kiss under the mistletoe, and in their bedroom too, and it's their best Christmas ever.

 

Tony invites them over for Boxing Day, and the Tower is everything Steve didn't like at the mall, loud and artificial – but everybody is wearing festive colors and ridiculous accessories; Clint has antlers, for some reason, while Tony is prancing around in a fake Santa outfit. Natasha is just wearing an oversized hoodie, black, but it looks so cozy it makes her look soft too. Bruce has a knitted scarf around him and a warm cup of chocolate in his hand, the cream so over-proportioned that it's dripping down the side. And Thor is singing aloud to a modern rendition of   _ Jingle Bells _ with typical Thor-like enthusiasm that nobody could question his holiday spirits.

But the rest are there, too, just as Bucky accompanies Steve, Pepper is at Tony's side, smiling and laughing, and Clint brought his dog, and Sam came with his mom's cookies – Bucky would be jealous, but Steve assures him that he still prefers Bucky's –, and Jane comes in late with her friend and her ridiculously frizzy hair from her layers of scarves and hats, making Thor even louder, and there's eggnog and food and laughter.

Steve pulls Bucky close. They're not at PDA yet, other than gentle touches and embraces, but Bucky leans into him because Steve has a contemplating expression on his face.

"This is so unlike home," he mutters.

"And yet it feels like that, doesn't it," Bucky mutters back and Steve nods.

Later, when the eggnog and the Asgardian ale have taken effect and everybody is pleasantly buzzed, even louder than before and red-cheeked, Tony has them all gathered together for a photo in front of the giant Christmas tree. It takes some maneuvering, who's standing in front of who to make everybody fit, but they eventually make it, and Tony gives out small polaroid pictures to the guests as emotional reminders for his over the top, expensive and somehow thoughtful gifts.

And at home, Steve surprises Bucky by putting the picture up the bedroom wall next to the one he draw for Bucky for Christmas, the one with their families of then. 

Neither is perfect. Steve's drawing is colored, and while he captured the past beautifully, looking at it comes with a ping of sadness for times and lives lost. The polaroid is blurry at the edge, Bruce is looking the wrong way, Pepper and Tony are blurry from laughing so hard, and the lighting is awful.

And yet, they both represent something.

"This is our life now," Steve says fondly and mock-exasperatedly at the same time. 

"I kinda like it," Bucky says.

Steve looks at him long and hard. "So do I," he agrees. "So do I."

**Author's Note:**

> Oh God, a oneshot with dialogue??? A TRUE CHRISTMAS MIRACLE
> 
> Anyway this was beta'd by a non-fandom friend so I can't link them, but thanks anyway if you see this! ;) 
> 
> I don't know if the three Barnes sisters are canon or not? I know Becca is canon in the comics, but the whole Barnes family is pretty much absent in the MCU, and I tried looking them up but ehh, even if they're fanon only, I still like them. The names most likely came from Halbereth's Heroes Are Easy, People Are Hard which is amazing! 
> 
> I seriously headcanon Bucky as Jewish; however, I'm atheist and quite depressed at the moment and immersing myself in an unfamiliar religion was just not something I would've been able to do. 
> 
> I hope all of you have a favorable holiday of your choice <3 come say hi on tumblr (although who knows how that's gonna work in the future) or on pillowfort! i'm @cpt-winniethepooh on both.


End file.
